The thing is, Lucas did know. He knew when I came and went, he knew what time I usually woke up because of the dogs. He knew what I liked for breakfast, he knew where the backup chocolate pudding hoard was stashed, he knew what it meant when Dino was on the hi-fi instead of Sinatra (that I was extra tired), and he knew that I always peed with the door closed. Because my God . . . who would pee with the door open?

I might have come here patternless, but I had set down roots almost immediately. I could see myself living here forever. Without knowing I was doing it, I’d tethered myself to the one man in town who knew what it was like to have his heart broken by the woman he loved. Though we’d joked about rebounding, that’s not what had happened.

I might love this particular tether. And he was leaving in less then twenty-four hours. And he’d be gone for twelve weeks. Which in the grand scheme of things? Was nothing. One grain of sand in the huge hourglass in the sky. But as the woman currently wrapped around this big piece of wonderful, I wanted these new patterns. I wanted to learn whether he wanted his love every night before sleep, or if he was the kind of guy who’d wake up needing me. Did he shower in the morning, or after work? But . . . maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to talk about this right before his trip.

After all, we’d just gotten out of long-term relationships. And everyone says that your rebound is the guy you mess around with, have a great time with, before meeting the next real relationship. Could two rebounds cancel each other out? Or would they be double disaster?

I cuddled up to Lucas, his warm arms wrapped solidly around me, and we breathed together. And before I knew it, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled me out of my head and into a slow, drowsy peace.

“Should I go?” he asked, his voice low and molasses thick.

“You better not,” I warned, burrowing deeper into his arms. And those arms picked me up, and carried me to bed.

He tugged the sheets back with me still clinging to him, pressing my nose into his shoulder, inhaling deeply. “You smell amazing, you know that?”

“I’m surprised, considering I didn’t get to finish my shower.” He chuckled, trying to set me down, but I didn’t want to let him go. He gave in, slipping under the covers with me and turning the light off. I craved him, craved his scent and his touch, and I continued to run my hands along his skin, dancing kiss after kiss along his shoulder as I wrapped myself around him once more. Had it really been so long that I’d been without contact like this? Was I just skin drunk?

Nah. I was Lucas drunk. He was the perfect cocktail.

I yawned, and it almost took my head off. “I’m so tired, but I kind of don’t want to close my eyes.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You thinking about tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I laid my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was literally like a lullaby. “I forgot to tell you—on the news, I saw something terrible about Belize.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It sank.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Chloe?”

“Hmm?”

“Belize isn’t an island.”

“It broke off first and then it sank.”

“You’re right. I am surprised I didn’t catch that on the news.”

“I guess you better stay stateside, then.” I sighed, snaking my leg over his.

“Can’t do that.”

“I know.”

We both sighed.

But it was naked sighing, so there’s that.

There’s something to be said for being the little spoon. You’re tucked in, you’re cozy, you’re warm and content. Someone is wrapped around you all night, not protecting you, necessarily, but if a zombie were to come in through the window, the chances are the big spoon gets it first, right?

Charles always liked to be spooned, but he didn’t like to be the spooner. Lucas was a great spooner. When I woke up the next morning, I had one giant hand nestled against my belly, the other curled around my shoulder and casually wrapped around one lucky breast. I’d slept like a rock and woke up with a smile on my face. My body felt rested, yet sore in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Or really, never had been. Not quite this way.

I turned in his arms, snuggling into his warm chest, and let my eyes linger on the face I knew so well: the dip above his lip, the long, dark lashes that no boy should ever get to have, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose, that thoroughly messed-up hair. He rocked the bed head, that’s for sure. I blushed slightly as I remembered how those silky strands felt between my fingertips as he pushed into me that first time.

“Oh, it’ll fit,” he murmured.

I bit my lip, a pumpkin grin spreading across my face. Cautiously, I reached out to touch his face. His sleeping gave me the courage to drink him in, explore every contour and nuance of his face without getting caught doing so. I feathered my fingertips across his cheekbone, down to his strong jaw, showing the beginning of a light beard. I ghosted across his eyebrows, his closed eyelids, taking in the palest of lavender veins. His eyes moved under my fingers; was he dreaming? What was he dreaming about? I’d love to know.

I ran my fingers across his sweet lips, lips that I now knew were capable of kissing me like no one else ever had. No one had even come close. Also very capable at the dirty talk, something I’d had no idea I’d respond to. Oh, my, I responded.